


To Build a Home

by larkspyt



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, repost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 20:57:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7860832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larkspyt/pseuds/larkspyt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard knew Thranduil didn't like him because he touched him without permission once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Build a Home

Bard had touched Thranduil without permission once. It had been in the aftermath of the battle, when he had the leisure of resting while Thranduil tried to clean the blood off his face with a rag over a barrel of water. Every now and again, he would push silvery strands of hair over his shoulder only for them to fall back across his face like a stubborn curtain. After Thranduil’s fifth grunt of frustration, Bard slapped his thigh and walked over to him. 

“Come here,” he chuckled, gathering the bulk of Thranduil’s hair in his hands and putting them into a loose braid. He’d done it often enough for his daughters that the task required almost no attention from him. When he reached the end of Thranduil’s hair, he tugged at the thong that held his own hair back and used it to secure the braid. Bard smiled, satisfied at the look of it against the dark metal of Thranduil’s armour. “Better?”

Thranduil has been stiffer than a statue ever since Bard touched him. After a while, he gave him a cold, silent look from over his shoulder and nodded, like a lion dismissing a fly. 

Bard released his breath, careful to avoid Thranduil’s gaze and went back to where he had been sitting. 

Ever since then, Bard knew Thranduil did not like him. Which was why his eyes went round as dinner plates when the letter arrived, announcing that the delegation from Mirkwood was requesting accommodations from him for the duration of the treaty neogtiations with the dwarves. 

“But if this treaty is between Mirkwood and Erebor, why are they doing it here? What does Dale have to do with it?

“Dale stands to profit if Erebor and Mirkwood agree to be at peace,” Sigrid pointed out. “The elves think we’re on their side." 

“And the Elvenking must like you, Da,” said Tilda. 

Bard took Tilda’s hand and stroked it, cherishing her innocence. 

x

Near the southeast edge of the city by the river stood what had once been a splendid home in Dale. Bard’s friends had come across it while scavenging for blankets after the battle and had dragged him here, claiming it was a perfect new home for the new king of Dale. Bard had slapped them all up their heads and sent them to his daughters, who had taken charge of blanket distribution. Still, Bard could not deny he liked the look of the house. Something about the arch of its doorways and the narrowness of the secret stairway charmed him.

Bain didn’t like the house. He thought it was too structurally unsound. If they wanted to live there, the would need to tear it all down and build it up from scratch. With startling maturity, Bain patted his father’s shoulder and said, “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Da. We don’t have manpower to spare on building new houses right now.”

Bard wished his son would’ve told him that before he had fallen in love with the house. The more Bard saw of it, the more he liked it. From the crawling ivy that had found its way through the ceiling to the expansive mural of mountains on the northern wall. 

He told Dagr he would put a table there and could do his work amongst the ruins. “I can receive people here,” he said, motioning at the empty space under the cupola and then pointed at the opposite wall, “and build a fireplace there so it would be warm in winter.”

“But there is still that.” Dagr looked up at the gaping hole in the roof. “You can build as many fires as you like but you’ll freeze to death here. Now, come. Why don’t you go back to that lovely house we’ve set up for you.”

Bard refrained from saying, “But I like this one,” because it sounded petulant even to his ears. He has agreed to lead the people of Dale, formerly of Lake-town, and shoulder the title of ‘king’. Surely this house was not too huge a request.

“I can understand why you would like this place,” said Thranduil. 

Bard lowered his hand from where he had been caressing a crumbling pillar and turned to the elf-king. “You do?”

Thranduil was visibly tired from his travels but Bard had insisted that he show him the house before the following day’s schedule swallowed up all of Thranduil’s time. Bard imagined he wasn’t in Thranduil’s good graces, dragging him here and there like a stubborn child. But Thranduil was older and wiser and an elf. If he had told Bard that the house was not worth paying attention to, Bard would have capitulated. 

“This place retains the breath of he who lived here last.” Thranduil surveyed the room, standing with a stillness that had Bard holding his breath. “To feel the connection to those long in the past can be both humbling and comforting.” Then, snapping out of a daze of his own making, Thanduil raised his head and turned to Bard. “Or perhaps I overreach.”

Bard laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. You described my feelings perfectly. It does comfort me to feel connected to the people of old Dale. It makes me want to honour them by rebuilding this city.”

The barely-there smile on Thranduil’s face made Bard’s chest swell. If the Elvenking approved, surely Dagr and Bain could be persuaded. 

“Now, would you please show me to my quarters?” said Thranduil, voice sharp with reprimand. 

Bard ducked his head. “Of course. This way. You’re with me.”

x

Thranduil didn’t need to say anything. Bard could sense his scorn in his silence from across the room. Bard drummed his fingers on the supports of his four-poster bed to distract himself from the awkward weight that has descended in the silence between them.

Raising a finely-groomed brow, Thanduil said, “I said _my_ quarters, not yours.” His tone made Bard feel like a simpleton. 

“These are the only ones I can give you. I’d prepared rooms for you, but the bed frame cracked earlier this morning.” He coughed under Thranduil’s scrutiny. “This is a good bed. Comfortable too. You will have no trouble sleeping here.”

“What about my retinue? Have their beds broken as well?”

Bard laughed “No. They’re down the hall.”

“Then I will join them. I won’t steal the bed of another king.”

“You’re not. Tilda’s tiny enough to share with her sister so she’s generously offered me her bed. I would have taken this bed with you if you had been smaller, but you’re taller than my tallest soldier.”

The jest fell far from its mark. 

Thranduil gave him one last inscrutable stare before nodding and turning his back to Bard in a clear dismissal. Bard bade him a quiet goodnight and left, sighing under his breath. He couldn’t fault Thranduil for disliking him so. To him, Bard must seem quite the impudent little man, not only failing to provide him proper accommodations but then making unfunny jokes about it. 

If Thranduil were not so tired, Bard was certain he would have upped and left, never mind the meeting with the dwarves the next day. 

x

The meeting was a disaster. Time had dulled Bard’s estimation of Thorin’s stubbornness. He gripped the armrests of his chair as Thranduil threw Thorin’s propositions to the ground and declared that the dwarf-lord was in no position to offer him terms. Thorin roared, threatening another war. When Thorin’s right-hand dwarf, Dwalin, took up his axes, Thranduil stormed out of the tent. Bard hurried out after him, frightened for anyone who might get caught in Thranduil’s wrath. 

Blasted Aüle, Bard cursed upon seeing Tauriel and Kili standing dumbstruck before an equally silent Thranduil. A dangerous sort of blankness has spread over the Elvenking’s features. Fearing an ugly confrontation, Bard touched the back of Thranduil’s arm and said, “Would you like to retire to my room, Master Elf? You are weary.”

Thranduil twitched and without taking his eyes off the couple, intoned, “Yes. Thank you.”

Tauriel frowned when Thranduil left with Bard’s escort. 

“You came upon him at a bad time. You know King Thorin has no love for the elves. Why did you not send a more diplomatic dwarf to discuss terms?” Bard sighed and scratched his forehead.

“Balin was supposed to come. He was the only one who could ever contain Uncle’s temper, but he has taken ill,” said Kili. 

“What about the other prince? Your brother, Fili, seems like a reasonable dwarf. Why has he not come?”

Bard caught the flash of anger before Kili thought to hide his face. Tauriel squeezed his arm consolingly and turned to Bard. “Fili has left the mountain.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” spat Kili, “but if you ever see him, ask him for me, would you?” He stalked away without waiting for Tauriel, which left her sighing at his retreating figure. 

“The young are always more hotheaded.”

“I suppose,” murmured Bard even though Kili was probably a decades older than he. He looked sideways and took a startled step away from Tauriel. “Why do you look at me like that?”

Tauriel’s smirk grew and without an answer, she went to console her lover. 

x

Bard went to the broken house. Out of the very hole in the roof Dagr had found fault with, he stared at the magnificence of the full moon with his back flat against the floor and his hands pillowing his head. Bard closed his eyes, breathing in and felt the silence wash him with peace. 

After Thranduil had left, there was no resuming the meeting. Thorin said he was washing his hands of the matter and leaving it with his sister, Dis. Bard couldn’t imagine Thorin’s sister being any worse than him and so, was cautiously optimistic about tomorrow. 

He sat up in attention when he heard Thranduil enter the room. Propping himself up on elbows, he watched Thranduil glide in like a spectre. The shafts of moonlight poking in through the roof caught his face in a shock of beauty that had Bard’s pulse running. 

“This _is_ a nice abode. Kings need places like this. Where there is quiet. Where you can think in peace,” said Thranduil.

“Until interrupted by another king?” said Bard, smiling to show he was playing. Thranduil did not return the smile. Bard looked away, feeling once again rebuffed by older king. “Do you think there will ever come a day when you will sit across dwarves without insulting their ancestors?” 

Thranduil sank to the floor next to Bard and turned his face up towards the moon. The desire to touch him came unbidden to Bard. Bard looked down and away. If Tilda were here to see him now, he was sure she would tease him. 

“My son has left me,” said Thranduil, apropos of nothing. His voice was so clear in the silence, its echo could be heard if one listened closely. “He has chosen to travel north with a dwarf. Thorin’s heir. And the captain of my guard, whom I had fostered for so many years, has chosen a dwarf over the company of her own people. How can I love the dwarves when two of their own have taken away those I hold dear?”

With those words, Bard could not help himself. He covered Thranduil’s hand with him, though he continued to stare up at the moon as if he had done nothing out of the ordinary. “Those who are dear to us will never be far from us. They have left us memories and their affection. When you close your eyes, do you not feel their nearness?”

It took a while but Thranduil answered. “Do I have to be content with that?”

Bard thought about his late wife. “That’s the secret.”

He didn’t know how long he laid on the floor, lying in the darkness with Thranduil. He woke up the next morning in his bed. Bard sat up and stretched, groaning at the soreness of his back. Remembering that Thranduil was supposed to have his bed, Bard rushed out of the room to find him only to see Dagr running towards him. 

“Good morning!” said Bard. “Have you seen the Elvenking?”

Bemusement danced at the edges of Dagr’s frown. “Do you realise the time, Lord Bard?” he said, drawling Bard’s title as usual. 

“What? Okay, fine. What time is it?”

“Half an hour since your meeting with the dwarves began.”

x

When Bard arrived at the meeting, he searched first for Thranduil, and after confirming his general health, looked for Dis. He had been expecting a dwarf-maid equivalent of Thorin, but while Dis had her brother’s colouring, the similarities ended there. Her comments were short and clipped and before proposing terms, she would consult her advisor and listen to his whispered counsel with attentive nods and hums of understanding. 

Bard was persuaded that Dis must have taken the whole share of sense and had left none for poor Thorin. Afterwards, Bard hinted at this in the most polite way he could think of. Dis responded with a smile so full of bitterness Bard could taste it in the back of his throat. 

“I’m afraid this sort of diplomacy does not come naturally to me either. I have worked hard at it after Fili left.”

“Why did he leave?” asked Bard. 

Dis’s smile was sadder than the last. “Good day, Lord Bard.”

“Good day, she says,” said Thranduil, coming out of the tent to join Bard, “yet we have quarrelled every detail for so long that the day has already gone.” The sky was orange and purple with the setting sun. “Will you walk with me to the feasting hall? The festivities should start soon.”

“What festivities?” said Bard. 

“Why, the feast, of course. Every successful treaty is celebrated with a feast. It has to be tonight as I will be departing after I sign the treaty tomorrow morning.”

“So soon?” Bard blurted. “I’m sorry, I meant … that is very soon.” He must be making a fool out of himself again because Thranduil was staring. “You’re right. We should celebrate. I will meet you at the hall as soon as I round up my children.”

He went home to make sure his children put on their best clothes and tried to send them to the hall without him. Tilda demanded to know why they had to go if he wasn’t. 

“Oh darling, I’m tired,” he said, adjusting the bows on her dress. “I’ve been stuck in a tent mediating between elves and dwarves all day. I’d go under the table from the first pint of ale and all of Dale and Mirkwood will think I cannot hold my drink.”

“But what are we supposed to tell the Elvenking? He’ll be so sad if you don’t come,” said Tilda. 

“Don’t be silly. Of course he won’t.” He drew her in for a light hug. “You three enjoy yourselves tonight. It’s not often you get to dine with elves.”

After they left, Bard went down to the river to wash himself. As he took off his shirt, he was hit by a spell of whimsy that had him stripping down to nothing and dipping into the river. He swam downstream, allowing the current to dictate how quickly he went until it brought him to the broken house. Bard pulled himself out of the river, shivering when a breeze whispered over his skin. 

The full moon was out. It bathed the land in a soft white glow, broken by one, two yellow lamps left on a windowsill. 

“I knew you would be here.”

Bard yelped when Thranduil stepped out from the shadow of the broken house. He turned to face the elf-king, trying to recover some dignity after such an ungainly response, but then remembered he was naked while Thranduil appeared to be cloaked in a robe of starlight. He looked magnificent, as usual. But due to his nakedness, Bard felt more than ever terrified of Thranduil. 

Refraining from covering his modesty with both hands like an awkward boy, he said, “What do you mean you knew? Even I did not know until a moment ago.”

“It is consistent with your behaviour. You do not like being celebrated. Whenever there is an attempt to do so, you would run to a corner to observe where we cannot see you.” Thranduil glanced back at the house. “If you ever took this place and made it proper and fit for a king, you would stop liking it so much.”

Bard clenched his jaw, indignation rubbing raw against the truth of his words. He forced a smile to mask how deeply he was affected. “You only think so because you do not know about the secret stairway. What are you doing here anyway when there are celebrations to be had?”

“You did not think I would attend without you. What would I do there without your warm countenance putting me at ease, your generosity ensuring I wanted for nothing.”

“You are too kind, my lord.”

“Bard.” Bard’s chest ached. His heart apparently liked the way Thranduil said his name if the way it skipped was anything to go way. He gritted his teeth and willed his heart back under control. “If my advances are unwelcome, you will tell me and I will leave,” said Thranduil. 

Bard balled his hands into fists and turned his back to Thranduil, intent of going back into the river and swimming away like a fish escaping a snare. He stared at his reflection in the water. As distorted as it was, he could see the fear written clear across his features. 

“It was so much easier when I thought you didn’t like me,” muttered Bard. “I wasn’t so afraid of you then.” He swayed backward until his back met Thranduil’s chest. 

The first kiss tasted of honeyed wine. Every subsequent kiss Thranduil laid on him felt like a claim. They retreated to the recess of the secret stairway where Bard gave up his lips, his neck, his shoulders, he did not know there was anything left of him by the end of the night. He was right to be terrified. 

He was reassured only by the tremble of Thranduil’s fingers as they carded through his hair, as if he was made of glass and would splinter into a million pieces the moment he gripped too hard. 

Bard did not think there was much of a future for such a fearful love, but now that he has known the warmth of the Elvenking’s affection, he did not know how to give it up. 

x

Bard did not sleep even though he told Thranduil he would. He was sitting in the kitchen, pondering the issue of breakfast when the Ranger was presented to him, bearing a letter. 

The letter was from Fili, who congratulated and expressed admiration for Bard for successfully brokering a treaty between Mirkwood and Erebor. He also mentioned that this treaty would be important in the coming days against the evil power stirring in the east. The kingdoms of Rhovanion must be united to fight this evil. 

‘ _I regret you will not be able to pen me a reply as I will not be in a single place for very long in the coming months_ ,’ Fili added. ‘ _I hope it is not too impertinent of me to request a favour of you. I have not written to any of my family as I suspect they are still angry with me. Kili, especially. Send them my love if you can and I will be in your debt. Your servant, Fili._ ’

Bard crumpled the letter in his fist. “Are you friends with the writer of this letter, Ranger?”

The Ranger stared at Bard for a time, as if he could discern Bard’s character if he looked at him hard enough. “Yes,” he said eventually. 

“Do you know why he left Erebor?” Bard doubted such a laconic character would answer him, which was why he was startled when the Ranger replied. 

“Fili sensed a sickness in his own heart. He left because he did not want it to grow worse.”

“And how is he now?”

The Ranger spared Bard a tiny lift of his lips, too tiny to be considered a smile but it could not have been anything but. “Better.”

After the Ranger, Bard immediately went down river towards his favourite house in the city. It has been patched up a bit. Some of the walls have been rebuilt and a few of the holes in the roof thatched. But elves liked to welcome nature into their living quarters so the large hole that had been perfect for moon-gazing was left alone. A small channel had been dug into the floor so that the river found a home in this house as well. On either side of it, flowers flourished. 

Bard sat on a bench over this channel, reading Fili’s letter several times over until he heard the familiar trudge of Thranduil’s elk. His retinue remained at the door, as was custom. This house was only for the two kings. 

Thranduil thumbed the bruised colours under Bard’s eyes disapprovingly. “You did not need to receive me. I would have gone to you in due time.” Bard showed him the letter at which, Thranduil’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I have received similar news from Legolas. Someone is preparing for war against us. Do not be so grim. There will always be wars. Such is the way of the world.”

“I’m sure you have lived through many, but I had hoped one was all that I would live to see.” 

Thranduil tucked his fingers under Bard’s chin and forced him to meet his eyes. “Are you planning on leaving me so soon?”

Bard covered Thranduil’s hand with his own, smiling wanly. “Such questions you ask to test my feelings. Would you like me to swear an oath? That I would stay by your side as long as I can, for as long as you’ll have me? I would, if you asked me to.” 

Thanduil’s look of bemusement faded until what was left was the pain of a king who had ruled too long. 

“Alright,” said Bard, nodding. “Alright,” he said one more time, as if confirming it to himself.

Bard was not to know this, although he did suspect, but Thranduil would carry his words with him into battle against the forces of Dol Guldur and Sauron, fighting side-by-side with King Fili of Erebor and King Bain of Dale. Thranduil would carry those words long into the Fourth Age until weariness received him and drove him to the Undying Lands. When he arrived, the Valar would touch his forehead affectionately and lead him to all his loved ones who had sailed across the sea before him. 

There, he would hear the same chuckle that had him stiffen all those years ago when coarse hands subdued his hair into a braid. He would see the man, whose love kept him warm on nights when he’d felt frail enough to be blown away like a leaf tumbling in the wind. Thranduil would not ask how he came to be there, but would gather him close just as he had wanted to the first time that future king had braided his hair and said, “Better?”

He had to know. Of course he had to. 

“I’m better when you’re with me,” said Thranduil in that broken, magnificent house by the river in Dale.

Bard chuckled and scratched his nose bashfully. This silly mortal who didn’t know how much power he had over him. “Come. The children are expecting us at the proper house. The cook has roasted a boar for us. Isn’t that something to look forward to?” This silly mortal would never know. 

“Yes,” said Thranduil, smiling to himself, “it is.”


End file.
